


I always find my way back to you

by Mrrynewtmas



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, Fix-It, Fluff, M/M, Newt (Maze Runner) Lives, Oblivious Thomas (Maze Runner), Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-The Maze Runner, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-06 14:45:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15197036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrrynewtmas/pseuds/Mrrynewtmas
Summary: Hey! Sorry, I’m too lazy to even proofread this once. So expect mistakes and plot holes :D





	1. 250 Days Before

_Newt._

That was the first name that came to the brunette boy's mind, as he sat up from his white bed, trying to grasp onto some sort of memory. He looked around himself warily, as if trying to trigger his brain with the satiny blue curtains, wooden walls, and the open doorway showcasing beige sand; beyond that, a vast blue.

The beach?

The boy seemed to know, or perhaps remember, a typical beach. Sand, sun, palm trees, colorful balls and umbrellas. But when he tried to recollect how he knew such details, it was like his personal experience had become a grey area, cut off from his imagination. He could remember a sunny day, but not the events of one. A family picture, but no family.

The boy rose from the rumpled bedding, looking down at himself. He saw a blue fitting shirt, and tan trousers nearly covering his bare feet. As his eyes traveled down his own figure and back up as far as he could tuck his neck, he noticed a locket necklace hanging. The brunette contemplated opening the necklace's scrawny chamber, but decided to wait, as he instead chose to walk through the open doorway and figure out what was going on.

He tried to keep track of all he knew.

His name, maybe.

Newt? It was, after all, the first thing he 'remembered', if you could consider it a memory. But when the boy tried calling himself Newt, when he focused on that name, it didn't feel right. Like he wasn't worthy of that name, and it made him feel slightly lightheaded, in ways he couldn't explain.

The boy ignored the feeling, deciding he'd find someone to ask. After all, in a room as nice as the one he woke up in, he couldn't be the only one living here. He felt sand between his toes as he began to walk. Mindlessly. All he focused on was the sand, as if it would seep into him and awaken his mind. The boy turned his head to look towards the ocean, where waves rippled darkly under the clouded sky.

The ocean suddenly flashed to black in his sight, and the brunette gasped in shock. Was that real? He wondered, as his eyes saw the normal blue of the water. For the second he'd seen black, the waves had looked gooey, like dark blood churning.

The brunette's heart beat faster, and he felt weak in the knees as he turned back to look around him and really take in his surroundings. There were huts like his own a little ways off, appearing smaller despite the distance. Maybe hosting people. Normal people who could think for themselves. Maybe people he knew.

The boy began to run towards the huts, and it felt natural; as if the oxygen pumping in his blood kickstarted his brain.

He ran, and he began to see what he was running from.

_Stone walls, covered in ivy, as high as he could see. He was running. Mapping the turns he took, each day trying to find his way out with an Asian boy, who was slightly buffer and faster, but was training Thomas to become the same._

_Minho. That was the Asian boy's name. He and Minho were running a maze, trying to find a way out._

But from what?

The boy kept running, eyes closed, as his focus completely centered on the memory. Minho. He needed to find someone named Minho.

The boy was trying to remember more about this other new recollection when he was cut off abruptly by a hard collision with his chest, and then "Ow! What the shuck-"

The boy opened his eyes in shock, cheeks flushing pink in embarrassment at running into somebody. And then he realized who the person was, and the brunette couldn't stop taking in the slick black quiff, olive skin and buff build of Minho.

"Thomas!" Minho breathed suddenly, and the boy felt himself being pulled into a bone-crushing hug. He allowed himself to hug Minho back, though his head was spinning with new thoughts and, possibly, memories.

His name was Thomas. It was Thomas. He knew his name.

When Minho released him, the brunette looked up, eyes wide.

"I'm... Thomas." Was all he could manage to speak.

Minho's grin faltered. "Yeah, shank, you're Thomas. Are you feeling alright?"

Thomas(!) sighed, snapping back into focus. "It's a long story. But I don't really know most of it. You got time, Minho?"

He nodded. "Sure, buddy, let's go."

Thomas followed Minho up a sand dune, giving him a sudden memory flash.

_Thomas tried not to fall down as he dragged himself up the towering pile of hot sand. The scorch left everything dried and dead. As he stopped to look around, cracked yellows spread as far as the eye could see. He snapped out of his gaze when he felt a hand grip his forearm for balance. Thomas looked to the side, seeing a blonde boy who winced apologetically as he tried to move his right leg, which he ceased to put weight on."Sorry."_

_"S'okay." Then, grinning mischievously, Thomas picked up the soft blonde boy and carried him bridal style, making him yelp and laugh. "Tommy!"_

Thomas stopped trekking abruptly, heart beating faster and faster. "Whats wrong?" Minho called back to him. But Thomas's head spun from the new flashes of thought surrounding that blonde boy.

"Thomas," he heard, but he felt an uneasy wave of nausea as he tried to reach Minho.

"Thomas!" Minho yelled out to him, causing another scene to flash before his eyes.

_"Thomas!" Minho was shouting at him, pleading, but Thomas couldn't move. His eyes were trained on the body that lay before him, blossoming with deep red tendrils of blood that snaked around the chubby boy's pale skin, all spreading from the center of his chest, where the butt of a knife stood slightly crooked._

_Chuck. Chuck. Chuck. The name repeated in Thomas's head, in the kid's voice, as if reminding Thomas not to forget him. All Thomas could think was not to forget that he'd failed the boy. That the promise he made was as broken as the body that bade motionless at his knees. Chuck. A 14 year old boy who'd never remembered his true family..._

_Except the one he died for._

Thomas sat up, panting, trying to regain a balance in his head. Immediately his skull throbbed, yet Thomas's eyes darted around, quickly capturing the sand that woven through his planted fingers and his legs. Minho caught his attention; he was crouched next to Thomas, eyeing him bewilderedly.

"Talk to me Thomas. What just happened?"

Thomas couldn't help but shudder as he looked up at the taller boy. _Okay,_ He thought to himself, _I'll tell him_.

Thomas took a deep breath, catching Minho's full attention, before starting his explanation.

"I woke up probably an hour ago. Though I don't know what just happened now. I just... couldn't remember anything. Except, it's weird, like... I know things, just not myself. Or people I know. But I guess... I know how the world works?"

Thomas paused, his tone raising in a sort of question. "But I ran here, because I saw these huts and figured I'd find someone I knew, and then I ran into you while you were... uh, doing whatever-"

"Running, myself," Minho quipped, before quieting and letting Thomas speak again.

"Right, but when I ran, it was like it triggered a memory, of us. Running in some sort of enclosure. Like a maze. And when I saw you, in the flashback, I just knew your name. And it's giving me little flashes of memories of you. But when we were walking up these dunes, I remembered someone else. This boy, and he was sweet, and I, uh..."

Minho said nothing, watching Thomas wordlessly. Thomas continued, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

"I carried him up the hill bridal style. I don't know, it just... felt warm. But anyway, I couldn't figure out his name. But then you yelled out to me, and this other flashback just hit me, and it was a dead boy, and his name was Chuck. Do you know a Chuck? Can you tell me what I don't remember?" Thomas snapped his head up, eyeing Minho intensely.

Minho took a steady breath. "Thomas, I'm sorry you're freaking out. But I dont need to explain everything. It will stress you out right now; you'll klunk your pants. Just trust me okay?"

"Yeah," Thomas retorted, "yeah yeah as if you weren't the only person I can trust! Minho I don't remember anything. Do you get that? You obviously know me and I don't know you and I only know four names!" Thomas's intensity grew with every word until he was standing and towering over Minho, who had gulped and backpedaled onto the sandy bank. Regaining control, Thomas took a deep breath. "Can you at least tell me why I can't remember everything?"

Minho sighed, standing. "I'd forgotten. You're still under the effects of Anismortenaphine. It's kept you asleep as you've healed from your stab wound- don't ask, Thomas, you'll remember. Tonight you'll remember everything. I promise."

Minho paused, without an air of finality.

"But... the things you've remembered today are the most important to you, and maybe that's handy to know. What have you remembered? Anything you didn't mention?"

Thomas racked his brain for content, and then remembered what had tolled him earlier. The name. The one thing he woke up with, his only input to a blank canvas.

"Who's Newt?"

Thomas gaped as Minho's eyes widened and his breath hitched, before visible tears formed at the corners of his eyes.

"He was... the blonde boy from your memory. He was our best friend."

And Thomas remembered the boy, and the name, and how they tied together, and his world burst into color, new images popping up in his head, but all he could hear was "Tommy". "Heya, Tommy." "Please, Tommy, please." "Take it, Tommy." All said so differently, yet the voice was the same.

And the sound of that nickname in his head filled his heart with something unexplainable from that moment until he lay down that night and let sleep overtake him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry, I’m too lazy to even proofread this once. So expect mistakes and plot holes :D

_Tommy_.

Newt tried to open his eyes slowly, him being extremely sensitive to the light that surrounded him. Yet the light was just too blinding, so the blonde found himself letting his eyelids droop again. Newt could at last stop focusing on the bright luminescence of his whereabouts, and his brain began to spin with thoughts and memories.

Tommy was the first. That boy managed to sneak his way into the blonde's head before he'd even fully woken up, and Newt couldn't help be slightly confused as to why. After all, Thomas may have been his best friend and solace throughout all of their recent adventures, as well as the last face he saw before this, but Newt didn't get why Thomas had to be on his mind all the time. Flashes of brown hair and eyes crossed the back of his head like clockwork- and throughout their explorations Newt often found himself shaking those pictures out of his head like a dog with water-clogged ears.

Newt tried to recall the recent events leading up to wherever he was now.

The safe haven. That's where they all wanted to go. But as Newt found himself succumbing to the flare, he got real with himself and others- there was no way he'd survive that long.

And then when Thomas wanted to find Minho, Newt was first by his side, his number one with a bullet. Newt remembered the moment clearly, where he'd gotten Frypan and caught Tommy at his escape plan only to join him.

_But that was ages ago. What happened to me?_

Newt ignored the throbbing that grew in his head, and focused harder, as if he could mentally reach into his brain and flip a switch that turned on his memory.

He recalled growing weak. Jumping out of a building nonetheless, and landing in a pool with his Tommy and Minho at his side.

_Wait, my Tommy?_

Ignoring the slip in his thoughts, Newt then had a vivid flash of memory, causing him to curl his nails into his palms in painful anticipation-

_"Take it!"_  
Newt lay under Thomas, who was crying, hard, looking nowhere but Newt's blackened eyes.   
He ripped a chain from his neck that held a small capsule, and practically shoved it at Thomas.

_The letter,_ Newt thought absently _._

_Thomas seemed to want to turn it away, instead he grabbed at Newt as if trying to pick him up and take him away from this fallen city, but Newt needed him. Needed him to see that letter. Because he knew now was the right time._  
"Please, Tommy, please."  
Newt panted, and Thomas took it, tears pouring from both of their eyes.   
"Newt," Thomas cried, and Newt felt his heart break along with the rest of him.   
And then everything went red.   
Newt felt a burst of anger, his eyes darted around for something, anything, to end the misery he'd been put though. His glare landed on a handgun, laying forgotten next to Thomas. He lunged for it, his crank speed too fast for the brunette facing him, and in one swift moment Newt had straddled the boy to keep him from moving as he held the gun up to his own head in outrage-  
But Tommy knocked it out of his hand, yelling out, bringing his senses back in.   
Newt panted, his tears fell onto Thomas's chest.   
"Sorry," he breathed, trying to fill his brain with oxygen and keep it sane just a little longer.   
"S'okay." The boy's looked into each other's eyes, eyes spilling over with tears and Newt felt heartbroken that he was leaving his Tommy here, now that he didn't want to go anymore.   
But he wanted to save the image of the boy under him, as it played in his mind for the last time.   
And as insanity swept over him, and he felt a knife sandwiched between him and his Tommy, stuck in his chest,   
and as Thomas held onto him for the dear life that was slipping away,  
Newt realized that he didn’t mind dying, for he was with his Tommy.

Newt opened his eyes quickly this time, despite the tears that filled them. _Tommy. Tommy. Tommy_. He died in his best friends arms.

But then where was he now? Surely a sad shank like him couldn't get into heaven. Newt sat up, now aware of the hard examination table he laid on and the medical room it was inside of. He groaned, rubbing his face with his hands, before swinging his legs over the table and hopping to his feet. At the impact of his right foot hitting the ground, Newt felt pain spring up his leg.

_Ouch, this definitely isn’t heaven then.  
Bloody hell, am I still alive?_

Newt felt his heartbeat pick up, ideas running through his head like _what if I was kidnapped_ or _what if Tommy and Min are out there somewhere_ or _where is everyone?_. He reckoned overthinking wouldn’t solve anything, so Newt tried to steady his breathing, and he walked to the white door across the room feigning calmness.

However, it didn’t help when right as he was about to reach off the handle, someone came bursting in and knocked him back across the room and right on to the examination table. Newt bewilderedly just sat there, trying to identify the person before they’d slipped through the door.

“Newt? You’re awake?” A feminine voice spoke. “...I think I hit something with the door, but there’s nothing here,” she finished, muttering.

That voice sounds very familiar.   
Not believing his ears, Newt looked up just in time to see a swish of long brown hair through the door, accompanied by the one and only girl.

_Bloody Teresa?_

And then Newt couldn’t stop himself from his own anger. He stood up once more, fast as a bullet, ignoring the spinning in his head at the movement. “Teresa.” He said coldly. “Why the hell are you keeping me here? Like you haven’t done enough already?” Newt was brimming with a secret hurt, looking at the girl who betrayed him and his best friend and everyone he ever really knew.

So it surprised him when a look of sadness flashed across her eyes, before she deadened her expression.

“I haven’t done enough yet, Newt. But wow. How about you take a look at your arms, huh? Remember what used to be there?” Teresa spoke with intensity, yet she tried to feign some sort of sweet tone. Newt sputtered, for the first time noticing that his arms, in fact, not only no longer carried the deep black veins, but did not have any trace of them whatsoever.

_Maybe she’s really helping me_.

Newt decided to push away his other questions, to ask his newest and biggest one. He looked up at Teresa, the hate gone from him, and frowned. “Am I... cured?”

At this, Teresa actually looked like she might cry. Bloody hell. Newt stared as she sighed, hung her head, and let out a shaky laugh.

“No, not yet. I’ve been giving you treatments of Thomas’s blood serum, and trying to save you, but all it’s done is erase the damage done.”

Teresa closed the door, before sitting down on the table next to Newt. She sighed, rubbing her arm. “Thomas left with everyone else. He was shot. But he never knew I was alive, and that’s why he’s gone. Right now we’re in WCKD facilities, trying to repair the world in a better way, now that we’ve left your friends to live a life they deserve. But so many people are dead Newt. And... it’s been 4 days since the showdown, and you’re one of the only people here that I know and trust, even if you don’t trust me. Or even like me. But I saw you out there and I knew I had to save you. You know?”

Teresa paused to look at Newt, who didn’t dare take his eyes off the girl.

“You’re the only one I have right now.”

And Teresa said no more, only quietly proceeded to run tests on Newt, scared to meet the boy’s gaze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope it was okay! Lol leave ideas in comments if there’s something specific you wanna see x


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas’s painkiller wears off.

_Everything_.

Thomas remembered everything. Well, almost. Everything up until the end of that night.

He remembered coming up in the box, up into the glade. He remembered the maze, and Newt, and Alby and Minho. He remembered surviving the night, and Gally's wrath, as well as Ben. The scorch, the flare, WCKD, Teresa. The last city, the serum, Newt.

Newt.  
 _Newt was dead_.

At the recollection of this flashes from the dreadful night played in Thomas's head. Newt, looking terrifyingly pale with the black veins lining every inch of his skin, and the sight left Thomas sick to his stomach, that the flare had reached his Newt. Yet Newt himself didn't repel Thomas. _Even as he pinned Thomas down, cried onto him, lost his sanity_ , he never could.

And it caused him now to break inside. The full memory left Thomas crying, giving shuddered gasps amidst his flow of silent shaky sobs, and hurting deeply, feeling as if he'd never be happy again. Because the boy who always was his first priority was gone.

It hurt him so bad, Thomas felt a sorrowing urge to take his own life, as Newt had tried to do before they'd even met. Thomas couldn't let himself accept that Newt could possibly be dead. He just couldn't.

Thomas began to rock back and forth on the bed, wishing that he never got his memory back from yesterday at all. It wasn't worth the pain, the heartbreak Thomas felt as he started to bawl, yelling out in agony over the best friend he'd ever had, the person he thought about the most. The pain pounded in his eardrums, hurt and loss seeping through his bones and causing Thomas to curl up into himself even more than possible.

Thomas cried out, but his voice was drowned by the ringing in his ears and the panic filling his system. He breathed in, but no oxygen could reach him. He could only cry, detached from his surroundings and the girl that had run into his hut and hugged him tightly. He could only think about his Newt. Thomas shook, crying and screaming and missing Newt so much.

Newt would calm him down if he was here. But he wasn’t. And as the walls swallowed Thomas, his senses distorted, there was nobody to save him.

-

After what felt like an hour, Thomas regained control. His panic attack subsided, and he became aware of the girl who sat on the edge of his bed, giving him space but watching.

"Thomas, what's going on?" Brenda got up and walked over to Thomas, who was busy willing his head to stop spinning.

He looked up at her, and felt a weird emotion he couldn't quite place. It was like, as he gazed at her worried face, he could only think of how she was one of the closest people to him, and she'd survived, and it should've make him happy but he just couldn't be. Because Newt wasn't there.

Thomas would've assumed that seeing someone else he cared about alive would've maybe made up a bit for his angst over Newt, but it felt like Brenda, though she became a close friend to him through the scorch, just didn’t suffice. I mean, he liked Brenda, didn't he? He'd even kissed her.

But she wasn't Newt.   
_Wait a minute, I'm making it sound as if I'd rather kiss Newt?_

Despite the current situation, Thomas ridiculously allowed his mind to wander there for a second, imagining why he'd thought that. Newt was his best friend. But Thomas couldn't help picture a kiss between them, and it filled him with something unexplainable.

Thomas didn't like not knowing what he was feeling, so he tried to ignore it. He was probably still a little loopy off the anismortenaphine. So he tried to focus on Brenda instead, realizing he’d never answered her question. Taking a deep breath.

“I remember everything.”

Brenda seemed to look hopeful, before her eyes fell to the ground. “Oh.”

Thomas knew why.

_Thomas sobbed over Newt’s body, thickened with black blood, finding the sounds only ricochet off the nearby metal walls. No other sounds could be heard, nothing from Newt, who’s eyes were fixed upwards in a sad and almost beautiful way. Thomas had paused crying just to look at Newt for what might be the last time.  
His best friend lay silent. Despite the still veins that coiled around his arms and neck and spread shyly over his cheeks, he looked like an artwork, almost. His hair still tinged a pale gold glow under the city lights, his skin white but pristine. Thomas couldn’t help feel Newt looked like a fallen angel- like the vines wrapped around his face suffocated the innocent saint, restricting him from good, killing him._

Thomas couldn’t remember much from that night after he was shot. With Teresa, who fell to her death but he blacked out before she hit the ground. That hurt, he remembered as much. She was his closest friend for all but 5 years of his life; and she wanted to save Newt.

Alas, Newt he remembered vividly, though Thomas wasn’t so sure he wanted to. Every time a flash of Newt’s cranked face hit the back of Thomas’s brain it was like being struck by a brick to the head, and Thomas sobbed and felt overwhelmed with despair every time.

Remembering he was with Brenda, he looked up at her.

“We were ten seconds too late to save him, Brenda. And I should have gotten the knife away from him, but I tried to keep him from hurting me, Bren, and he still had the knife and-“

“Shh,” Brenda interrupted. Thomas gazed up at her bewilderedly, and she bit her lip while fiddling with her hands. Thomas watched her shoulders rise and fall slowly as she sighed, somehow it calmed him a little, and he relaxed.

Thomas looked at Brenda expectantly, and it took a minute before she spoke.

“Survivor’s guilt, Thomas. That’s what you’re feeling. Yes, we didn’t save him, and it’s so hard to lose someone when you could almost save them. But Thomas even when you love someone, you may need to protect yourself from them. It hurts but you have to. You’re not in the wrong, and Newt would tell you that if he could.

Brenda paused to run her hands over her face, and Thomas took a moment to think about what he said. _Someone you love._ Brenda said Newt was someone Thomas loved. _In what way did she mean that? Surely not, like, in-love love._

“Thomas, you have every right to mourn. So do. But I want you to know it will get better. I haven’t moved on, but after all, it’s only been like a week.” Brenda ran a hand through her hair. “Can I tell you something?”

Thomas nodded, slightly confused but listening nonetheless.

“Great. Okay. So, I should confess... I knew Teresa before you introduced me.”

Thomas would’ve spat out a drink if he had one. Instead he sat up and listened intently, shocked at the new information. _How did Brenda know Teresa? Why hadn’t they said anything?_ Thomas wanted to ask those questions, but of course what had to come out was “Why did you know Teresa?”

Brenda looked at him with furrowed brows, and Thomas mentally slapped himself. He was lucky Brenda knew what he wanted to ask.

“Because I met her. I told you how I had a job at WCKD before, yeah? Well, I spent a lot of time with Teresa before, mainly helping run information around the building and from her. I didn’t actually know much about them keeping you guys in the maze, but I worked shortly about the time you gladers were in the protective lab with Janson. Of course I developed the flare and was sent to the scorch within a month, but it was long enough for me to spend all my time with Tesa. Thomas, I... I fell in love with her. I really did. And she was in love with you, but I loved her secretly.

“And may I add I know what she did hurt you but she was saving your life many times over, by the way. But... when she died, it broke me. A part of me... I guess, still loves Tesa. So I know how you’re feeling. You’re not alone.” Brenda finished, smiling weakly.

Thomas had never been more confused and shocked in his life. He sputtered, trying to form words that dissipated on his lips when he tried to speak them, but eventually gave up to stare wide-eyed at Brenda.

Brenda was in love with Teresa. His two love interests in his whole life knew each other and didn’t tell him, and one of them loved him but was gone, and the other girl loved her. And on top of that, Brenda thought Thomas was in love with Newt. Where the hell did that even come from? Why did people think that?

Thomas finally found strength to talk.

“Wow. About you and Teresa. I mean, you know I’m sorry, truly, just... I never expected that. Or knew you were, uh...”

“Bisexual,” Brenda supplied.

“Yeah. Which is cool, don’t get me wrong. But...” Thomas gave into the nagging feeling in his chest. He had to ask. “Why do people think I’m in love with Newt? He was my best friend, Bren. He’d never think of us that way.”

“It doesn’t matter what he thought, Thomas, but how you felt. But you two were inseparable. It was so easy to see how head-over-heels you were for each other, given how you cared for each other endlessly. So it’s worse for you, I guess, to cope. Since I never actually had a chance with Tesa.”

Brenda sighed, offering a forced, sad laugh at Thomas’s silence. He felt terrible for Brenda... not to mention confused at himself.

He didn’t have those feelings for Newt, just because people thought he could. _I’m allowed to care for a friend without being in love with them._

Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo leave a kudos if you like! As you can tell, Brenda’s story is different from the movie!verse, but it’s part of the plot ;)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt chats with Teresa.

_Nothing_.

Newt felt nothing.

No pain, no sickness, no headache, only the slight soreness in his right arm from all of Teresa's blood tests and shots. Lucky for him, she had finally quit, though by falling asleep at the foot of the operation table. Newt understood. She must have been exhausted, keeping an eye on him at all times, giving shots and running constant tests.

Newt had considered this, and that Teresa saved his life. It was only right for him not to trouble her, so he'd refrained to mention his deep fear of needles to the girl.

Eyeing Teresa cautiously, Newt sat up on the table and swung his legs over the side, dropping his feet down to the ground. Expecting pain to shoot up his injured leg, he winced in anticipation- but he never felt any.

_Did Teresa fix my leg too?_ Newt thought, bewildered. _Maybe she's really changed_.

While Newt had originally planned to sneak out and explore the place where he was being kept, he felt a pang of guilt for going behind Teresa's back. Instead, he backpedaled and hopped up on the table, closer to the sleeping girl.

"Hey, Teresa?"

The girl in front of him stirred, as her torso was draped over the table and her hips seated in a high-raised swivel chair, her long chocolate hair fell over her crossed arms, and after a moment, she raised her head. Newt watched her eye the room, before her gaze met his own.

"Newt!" Teresa gasped, slightly shaken at his sudden appearance in her line of vision. She sat up straight, hand gripping her white lab coat near her heart as she let out a short-breathed sigh. "Oh, it's just you. Okay."

Newt instantly felt terrible for waking her when he saw the dark purple bags under her eyes. She must have been completely wiped out. But since she was awake, Newt didn't waste his chance to talk to her.

"Teresa, I don't mean to be rude, but... you betrayed us! So why are you being nice to me now; saving my life and all that?"

Teresa scooted her chair around to Newt's side. "When I 'betrayed' you all, I was following WCKD's orders so that they wouldn't kill Tom. They may have been empty threats, Newt, but I didn't want to find out in case they weren't. I'm not making excuses for myself. I should've turned against WCKD when Tom did. I guess, someone just kept me there. I didn't leave because I couldn't leave her." She finished, mumbling that last part so quietly that Newt missed it.

Newt glanced at Teresa, who was now biting her lip and looking defeated. And Newt understood. He realized that she wasn't wrong for thinking differently. So, shifting so that his feet hung over the edge that Teresa sat by, Newt lowered his head to look down into her eyes and spoke. "I'm sorry. For not trusting you. I was just so bloody blinded by anger of how you treated Tommy that I didn't want to consider your side of the story. That's not fair of me." Newt paused to break eye contact, shifting his gaze upward almost dreamily. "When I was in the maze, I was second in command, and it was always my job to see every bloody side of the story, to consider everybody's opinions. And... shuck, I haven't been doing that now. So I'm bloody sorry. Really am."

Newt hung his head in shame as he finished speaking, feeling disappointed at himself. He was ready for Teresa to scoff, or maybe not accept his apology for how rude he'd been, but amazingly, she took the conversation another way.

"Thanks. But I guess I should've seen it coming that you'd be my biggest hater when I had to hurt Tom. After all, you guys really have something. I mean, to me he was mainly my best friend. I'd liked Tom a bit since I met him, and I guess he liked me a little too, but all the things that happened between us were practically amplified by the extremity of the situations we were in. I don't think I would've kissed him that last night if we weren't both expecting to die. And what he felt for me was nothing compared to you. I'm okay with that, though. I've seen how you guys look at each other."

Newt just stared at her, eyes wide; brows furrowed. _Teresa and Thomas. The relationship, that for some reason I didn't like (probably her betrayal); Teresa says wasn't even... real? And Teresa thinks I have something with Tommy?_

"I don't have _those_ kind of feelings for Tommy. Not at all, we're best mates, that's it. That's how it's always been." Newt, convincing himself of what he'd just said, leaned back on the examination chair/table, hands behind his head.

Teresa looked at Newt skeptically. "Newt," she started, eyebrows raised, "if you don't think you're in love with him then you don't know what love is."

Newt felt himself get annoyed. Who was she to say he didn't know? Okay, maybe he didn't have experience, but just because she had, didn't mean Newt couldn't understand love. And, for the record, he knew she was lying about not being in love with Thomas. It was plain as day or she was the world’s best actress.

"Why, because you had it with Tommy? How can I believe you guys weren't in love? I mean, he talked about you a lot, and you had all your moments... you guys were the perfect young love story. It can't have been fake." Newt truly believed his own words. No. Teresa had to have been lying. Newt had spent many bloody nights dealing with Tommy talking about Teresa. It always left him in a bad mood. For whatever reason.

Teresa seemed to think for a minute, her expression glum. "I need to get something off my chest. Not about you, just... in general."

Consider Newt's attention held. He nodded.

"If Tommy liked me, though he truly didn't love me in that way, I couldn't have liked him back. Newt, I was in love with somebody I worked with. I think. But they were straight as a stick," Teresa chuckled.

_If she's taking the time to mention their sexuality, then that means-_

Newt's eyes widened. "You're not straight?"

Teresa bit her lip, unsure of how to take Newt's response. So she kept talking.

"I was in love a girl, so, yeah I’m a little gay. Please don't hate me for it. ...But I guess, that would be hypocritical."

_The audacity this girl has to stop and wink._

Newt shook his head annoyedly, causing her to snort and then return to her story.

"She worked with me, when you and Tom and Minho and your friends were in the Scorch. And in that department where you'd been 'saved' by Janson. Mainly there. We worked together all the time, and she was so strong and funny, and fearless I couldn't help admire her. At first I just thought a really wanted to be friends with her... but we became friends, and I just wanted more and more and more. God, she's probably alive still, but if she ever knew..." Teresa trailed off, looking completely sober compared to a moment before. Newt just stared in surprise.

“T... who was it?”

Newt was curious- he couldn’t help it. _Maybe I’m a sap_. He was captivated by the love story that Teresa had been living, or maybe the notion that there was any love left in the world at all. _Maybe I could find it._

Teresa bit her lip. “Promise not to freak out or tell her if we see her.”

Now _this_ was an intriguing thing to say. Newt had forgotten that he might see anyone again, let alone people he knew. But who could he and Teresa have known, someone funny and fearless? _If they weren’t with us in the Scorch, maybe it was group B? Maybe Harriet, or Sonya..?_

Bloody Newt and his newly discovered romance-loving personality decided they really wanted to know.

“Of course, T.”

“IwasinlovewithBrendaIthink. But I don’t know, maybe it’s me overthinking. But I really feel like I was, you know? It wasn’t a platonic crush.” **(A/n I mean a squish but like that word just doesn’t sound great in this context ok? ok)**

Newt blinked, upset that Teresa had mumbled so fast he missed the whole actual confession.

“Care to say that again?” Newt ran his hand through his blonde hair absentmindedly, watching Teresa as she fidgeted with the sides of her swivel chair.

“Brenda.”

 

“Bloody hell,” Newt gaped. Teresa in love with Brenda. There were a lot of shocking aspects of that. Like that Brenda must have worked for WCKD. _Wow, that’s kind of a traitor move,_ Newt couldn’t help thinking. But for some reason, the thing that held his attention the most was that for as long as he’d known Tommy, and probably as long as _Tommy_ had even known Tommy, Teresa and Brenda were the only two people he’d liked. Or loved. Or whatever. And they might be infatuated with each other. Poor Thomas was loverless.

Weird. (Not that it meant anything to Newt, anyway. Of course it didn’t.)

“I mean, that’s cool, T. I was just not expecting that at all.” Newt paused, sitting up straight, so that his shirt displayed his abs a little bit as he lightly stretched out. “But Teresa, tell me one thing.”

Teresa, who had been watching him with an unidentifiable expression on her face, snapped up with her eyes wide. “Sure, Newt.”

Newt ran a hand over his jaw, breaking away from Teresa’s gaze, before focusing back onto her rather intently.

“ _Are_ we going to see them again?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very lazy. Like really lazy. So I’m not reading this over. Sorry :/ I will try to get into the habit of doing it though


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas and Minho read the letter. Woo! And why does everyone ship newtmas? ooOoOoOoo

_Scared_.

That's how Thomas felt as he sat upon a sandy cliff edge, letting the wind caress his head and weave through his hair, a hint of loneliness tracing through the stiff breeze. His hands fiddled with the dirty rope necklace in his lap, running his fingers over the charm: a small, tube-shaped cylinder. The rusted, smooth metal felt cool under the pads of his fingers; level except for a ridge that Thomas noticed, which circled the width of the tube.

Upon noticing it, Thomas's eyes flickered down to the vial. Though at first he'd just thought the necklace from Newt was just a symbol, a charm he could look at just to remember the blonde boy; he had realized that the ridging looked oddly like a seam.

As if maybe, there was something more to the little charm.

As if maybe there was something inside.

Thomas felt terrified, despite the spark of curiosity flaming inside him. He was hesitant to try and open the vial, because he deeply feared what he might find from Newt, when he'd already accepted the fate of his best friend. He was uneasy enough _now_ knowing he was wrong, in assuming he knew the whole story and all there was Newt had to say.

He feared that it may break his heart over and over again. It was enough to have his head spin with despair every time the blonde boy clouded his mind. It was enough that he wished in a heartbeat that Thomas himself would have died instead.

It was enough that Newt was gone, let alone finding another piece of him, forbidding Thomas to move on.

But he had to open it, for Newt. Because even despite all the pain, Thomas would do anything for Newt. It was instinct.

 _Weird kind of instinct to have for someone who's just my best friend,_ Thomas felt himself think.

Shaking his head to rid of these odd ideas, Thomas impulsively yanked open the charm, proving it was, in fact, a container. Thomas hadn't known what he was expecting, maybe a picture or a token of sorts. But he wasn't expecting a wad of paper, neatly rolled up into the compartment as if it was a large sheet that could not normally fit. Thomas began to unfold the wad of paper, gaping when he'd expected it to be fully unraveled yet it just kept unraveling and expanding-

By the time the script was fully unraveled, it was the size of notebook paper. And there were 2 pages of it.

Thomas stared, wide eyed. Newt had left him a bloody _letter_.

_Talk about closure._

Deciding to save his emotions for later, Thomas began to read. He traced his finger along the calming slants of Newt's penmanship, following after every word.   
He read in shock, his mouth so wide agape it might have given him lockjaw. It would have been a marvelous sight to an outsider- the brunette boy running his hands all over a letter, open-mouthed, then laughing sadly, while sobbing through the chuckles and happy-sad sighs. Newts letter itself was sweet, reminding Thomas of the glade, of Newt's companionships. Thomas always looked up to Newt, yet now, he'd revealed that he looked up to Thomas. Newt had written that he would follow Thomas anywhere.

_I guess I'm the reason you can't anymore._

Thomas's body was racked with guilt and sadness, and he let himself fall back onto the ground crying so hard he might never breathe again. _I killed Newt._ Now that would follow Thomas around forever. But he felt he deserved it.

Newt, loving Newt. _My best friend, the boy I always think about. And he's dead, and it's my fault._ Thomas pictured the blonde's features in detail, thinking subconsciously that he would give all the bones in his body to see those caramel brown eyes, the cute pock marks on the tips of his cheeks that popped up when he grinned, the blonde hair that flopped over his face that Thomas wanted to touch, to feel under his fingers. Thomas had stopped crying long enough to drift between consciousness and sleep, and his mind eased at the image of Newt, preferably in his arms. Thomas would give anything to hug Newt right about now.

 _Or ever,_ Thomas thought easily, as the crashing waves on the shore gave way to the waves of sleep that rolled over Thomas and pulled him under.

-

“Thomas?”

Minho’s voice was the first to echo through Thomas’s throbbing head. Half awake, Thomas reached out randomly, trying to feel where Min was with his eyes closed.

“Minho,” he groaned, yawning and stretching his arms out, and finally opening his eyes. Thomas began noticing his surroundings; the fact that he was with Minho on a sandy cliff, maybe 50 feet above the low tides, and half a mile off from the villages of gladers and ‘munies. He noticed the bleary sky, and the paper clutched in his hand. Minho seemed to notice it to, worry mixed with confusion on his face.

Thomas instinctively held the paper to his chest, hiding its contents, without a mere thought. He felt bad, though, as Minho’s expression fell slightly, covered with hurt.

“Sorry Thomas. Didn’t mean to look at whatever that is.” Minho said, putting a hand on the ground to balance himself next to Thomas in a squat. “Are you alright?” He then asked in a new tone, though Thomas could tell the Asian boy was stealing glances at the paper Thomas held so tightly.

Thomas didn’t really know why he was being so protective over it, because he’d been so selfish he’d forgotten that Newt had been Minho’s best friend too. He shouldn’t be unfair and hide the letter from Minho.

“I’m okay, just... emotionally exhausted.” Thomas offered first.

“About Newt?” Minho said empathetically, it which Thomas nodded. “Except, maybe I would’ve eventually been able to move on, if it weren’t for this.”

Thomas sat up into a criss-cross position, Minho looking over his shoulder as he brandished the letter and held it openly in his lap.

To Thomas’s surprise, Minho didn’t grab for it or anything. He only gasped under his breath and went silent for a minute, before whispering, “I understand if you don’t want me to see it. You don’t have to tell me, but I think I know what it says.”

Thomas shook his head subconsciously, as if it would stop the tears that threatened to fall from their pools in his eyes. He leaned back towards Minho, who wrapped an arm around him. “I know, it was too late. But it doesn’t change how he felt, or how you feel.” Minho spoke with an air of reassurance.

Thomas looked up at Minho, now confused. What was _he_ talking about?

“Min, what?”

“Look, I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. But I know how you guys felt. It’s okay, really. You don’t have to worry about us not accepting you. Homophobia hasn’t been a thing since before the sun flares. You know, like 2030.” Minho paused to offer a cheeky half smile as Thomas stared at him bewilderedly. “My point is, I knew all along. So if that’s what you’re worrying about me seeing, you don’t have to. We can even talk about it.” Minho finished brightly, and Thomas could only be blankly shocked at his other best friend’s attempt to comfort him. The tears no longer fell from his eyes, now only leaving them wide open.

 _Minho thinks.. what? That we’re gay for each other?_ Sighing, Thomas realized he was struck with deja-vu. _Brenda said the same thing. Seriously._

“Minho, no. That’s- that’s not- why would you even think that? We-“ He started, though soon gave up trying to form adequate sentences. Lucky for Thomas, Minho took his abrupt silence as a cue to talk.

“You don’t have to lie to me. It’s okay.”

“Min, I’m not lying and that’s not what the letter’s about!” Thomas yelled in frustration.

Minho took the gesture and backed off. “So...” he said, regaining composure, “what’s... it about?”

Thomas took in a deep breath.

“It’s... a goodbye letter.”

Quickly as a ninja draws a sword, or as WCKD kills kids, Thomas whipped out the letter and handed it to Minho; who recoiled at the sudden movement. But Thomas didn’t take it back, only sighed and held the letter in front of the other boy. “Read it.”

Minho hesitantly took the piece of paper, and when he did, he ran his fingers over all the edges for ages until he finally unfolded the paper.

Thomas could see Minho’s lips move gently as his eyes slowly absorbed the note, gaze widening and softening as it traveled down and up and back down the letter. He was in an almost trancelike state, zen with the sandy winds that messed up his once-perfect hair. It was here and now that Thomas _really realized_ how much Newt meant to other people-

_And I was dumb enough to think I had him to myself._

_As a best friend, of course_ , was Thomas’s self-reassurance after such an intrusive thought. But it bugged him for the rest of the day, which was spent silent with a chance of mid-cry chuckles from Minho, who sat poring over the letter; trying to memorize it, while Thomas knew every word in his heart from the first time he read it.

And when the two boys found themselves unable to just _talk_ about it, about the parting piece of Newt in their hands, they treaded silently back to their cabins, and lay awake in their beds for the rest of the night.

Both undoubtedly thinking about the same person, though in very different ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope it makes sense


End file.
